


Dance Like Everyone is Watching

by Square_Pancake



Series: The Hidden Language [1]
Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, Ballet Dancer Charles, Charles is a Tease, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, F/M, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-10 07:16:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3281651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Square_Pancake/pseuds/Square_Pancake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik wasn't sure why exactly Emma wanted him to attend the ballet with her, even to see an all-mutant troupe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Emma, I know you like traveling with an entourage, but I’m really not clear why I am here. I don’t see why you couldn’t drag Moira along to see this guy. I don’t know anything about ballet, and I’m not particularly interested in learning about it either,” protests Erik as Emma leads him through the drizzle that shrouded Boston.

Emma sighs in exasperation. “Charles isn't _just_ a ballet dancer, he’s an old friend of mine. I’ve not seen him in two years, and I think you’ll get along with him.”

Erik doesn’t get along with anyone, he’s quite comfortable with that fact. But he tolerates some people. He’s trying to remember why he numbers Emma among them.

"What exactly do I have in common with a ballet dancer?"

"Well I’m sure he’s read your books. So you’ll have something to talk about."

"What makes you so sure he’s read them?"

"I cannot believe you write about mutants and haven’t heard of Charles Xavier. His dance troupe is a fully immersive psionic experience. He’s done so much for the acceptance of telepaths and empaths."

That actually sounds familiar. Erik mostly writes about politics and law, but that doesn't mean he is entirely out of touch with the art scene. Scanning through his memories, Erik recalls the name attached to a psionic performance group that had made waves a few years back. “Wait, he’s part of Fly Free?”

Erik is actually eager to ask more, but during their conversation they had made it to the Boston Opera House. With confidence born from the absolute belief that no one would dare stop her, Emma strides through a the front door and immediately heads backstage.

Along the way, Erik is pleased to see a wide variety of people, many with visible mutations, stretching and preparing for the evening’s show. As he watches, one beautiful ballerina spins, starting as a typical blonde, colors rippling across her body until she ends the pirouette as a breathtaking blue woman, clearly comfortable in her own skin.

Another dancer flexes dragonfly wings in counterpoint to pliés, her iridescent skirt fluttering around her hips matching the wings perfectly.

  
To his surprise, no one stops or even questions their presence; Erik would credit Emma’s telepathy making them unnoticeable, but with the number of psionics Erik remembers being affiliated with this group, her skills cannot be the reason.

Catching the tenor of his thoughts, Emma smirks. “I told you Charles was an old friend. He’s expecting me to stop by since we’re finally in the same city.”

Finally reaching a dressing room, Emma easily flings the door open without knocking.

Erik is immensely grateful for the breach in manners, because otherwise he might not have seen Charles Xavier dressed only in tiny boxer briefs spread out into a full split. His back is fully arched in a stretch, eyes closed and face relaxed.

Erik immediately tries to sear the image into his memory to review while alone. The smooth skin across his back, the well- defined biceps, and taut leg muscles are distracting, but it is Xavier’s face in repose that is the most striking. His hair is still damp, so presumably the man had not started to don the stage makeup common for performers. But there is still color high in his cheeks and his lips are almost obscenely red against his pale skin.

Erik’s rapt contemplation is interrupted by a lightly accented voice saying, “Emma be a love, help me extend?” As he asks, Charles bends forwards, his hair flopping over his face as he stretches his arms towards his front leg.

"I’m in heels darling. I’d probably trip over you," Emma says.

"Then your companion, I don’t care, I just want to finish these stretches while I’m still warmed up. Come on then." Eyes still closed, Charles raises his hand and beckons.

Flat footed, Erik manages to ask “what is it exactly you want?”

"Can you press my shoulders down lightly and slowly towards the floor? I get a fuller stretch that way."

Erik is pretty sure he once saw a porno open this way.

Erik notices that Charles still hasn’t opened his eyes. Desperately he glances at Emma, fairly sure that if he puts his hands on the sleek bare shoulders in front of him, he’d really not want to let go.


	2. Chapter 2

Swallowing, Erik edges past Emma and towards the ballet dancer in the unfairly tiny shorts. Just as he’s about to step in behind Xavier, Erik is struck by a sudden series of thoughts.

  1. Fly Free is a psionic entertainment production.
  2. Charles Xavier is apparently either the main attraction, the person running the troupe, or in some other role that merits a dressing room when many other dancers were out in the open.
  3. Given the amount of skin Erik can see, Xavier has an invisible mutation.



Conclusion: Xavier is probably either an empath or a telepath.

  
Erik doesn’t have any issues with psionic talents. The distrust he felt as a teenager faded the more he learned about mutant abilities, and he diligently worked on eradicating his last prejudices after Emma told him that his baseline paranoia towards psionic abilities was rather hypocritical and that he needed to actually learn about how people with mental abilities perceived the world. Once Erik realized that his ability to sense metal (a constant feeling on the edge of his mind that he could not block out) was similar to how psionics felt people’s mental presence, he thought he was as understanding as any person who was not an empath or telepath could be.

But all his research and reading did clue him in on one fact. It is a rare mutant whose ability to sense other people isn’t dramatically increased with skin contact. Erik wants to put his hands on Xavier, but that very want makes the action rather…rude. Erik is fairly certain if his fingers brush across Charles’s shoulders in the dancer’s current state of undress, Erik’s mental voice will make the equivalent of a terrible pickup line.

Only instead of “nice shoes, want to fuck?”, which could be laughed off in a loud club, Erik will be saying: “yes, this is lovely, but you should really take everything off and then we should fuck,” with an undercurrent of, “your ass is amazing, and I’d be happy fucking you, but with those arms, I am also interested in you holding me down while you fuck me,” and topped with myriad erotic images Erik’s libido is gleefully supplying.

All of this floats through Erik’s mind in a moment; and Emma finally proves that she is Erik’s friend when she intervenes rather than let him flounder.

Emma snorts, breaking the silence with the absurdly uncharacteristic noise. “A bit forward isn’t that, Charles? I mean I’ve not even introduced Erik yet and you’re already asking him to push you to the floor.”

As she comments, Erik hastily steps out of Xavier’s space. His movement is just in time for him to be able to see Charles finally opening his eyes in surprise. Erik has the sense that Charles is fully in the room for the first time, rather than zoned out and on autopilot.

Charles straightens his back and gracefully pulls his legs under him in a move that Erik is fairly sure defies physics. From his knees, he smiles up at the pair, offering, “I forget sometimes that not everyone is as comfortable with physical contact as we are. Even though we travel and perform in so many places, this can actually be a bit isolating.”

Erik wants to smack his head against the wall as he realizes that he lost the chance to put his hands on Charles. A gorgeous man is mostly naked and on his knees, smiling and presuming that Erik would be uncomfortable touching him. He wishes there was a non-perverted way to explain his hesitation. But the barebones explanation of “I don’t want to touch a possible-telepath,” makes him sound bigoted.

And Erik does want to touch the bare skin of _this_ possible-telepath; he just doesn’t want to do that to a possibly unsuspecting man who is clearly preparing for a professional event. Frankly, given the lust roaring through his body, Erik is afraid that putting his hands on Charles before he calms down from the initial pulse of attraction would practically be a mental assault.

Charles blinks in bemusement, his blue eyes slightly foggy, but before Erik can feel more than a touch of embarrassment over his thoughts, the dancer says, “sorry, I’m also helping Hank and Azazel coordinate lighting, and it’s taking more mental energy than normal. Usually I’m a bit more considerate than this.”

He sounds as though he is going to continue when he suddenly snaps upright and snatches a black satin robe from the back of a chair. Erik takes a moment to appreciate Charles’s appearance: although muscular and lean, Xavier is shorter than Erik, his strength compact and seemingly coiled under the skin. Charles pulls the robe on just as Erik is trying to memorize the constellation of his freckles.

As the dancer’s skin is covered, Erik’s mental facilities begin to reemerge and Erik feels the approach of metal jewelry at his back. A heavy watch, with gearing more intricate than most, coupled with a pair of thick rings indicates expensive work on a male. Glancing over his shoulder, Erik is surprised to see a man even taller than he is.

The man’s pallor suggests that he is a mutant, an assumption that Erik mentally confirms when he catches sight of his pupil-less red eyes. Without a word, the man shoulders by Erik and reaches out towards Charles.

Only to be greeting with Charles’s hand clearly offering a handshake rather than the hug the man appeared to be angling for.

“Dr. Essex, this is a surprise. I thought you were in New York?” comments Charles as his hand is taken in a lingering grip.

“New York is hardly any distance when you’re performing, dear Charles. And really, by now you cannot call me Nathaniel?” Erik feels himself bristle at the oily suggestiveness of the man’s tone. “Besides, I may look to relocate my clinic to Boston in the near future.”

“Oh?” Emma sounds startled, and Erik realizes he nearly forget his friend was there since he had spent most of his mental energy fantasizing while trying not to leer at the dancer. Emma continues, giving Charles a chance to free his hand as Dr. Essex’s attention shifts, “You’re thinking of coming here Dr. Essex? I’m surprised no one has mentioned it. The society mavens must be in mourning.”

Frowning at the woman interrupting his conversation, Essex waves his hand airily while admitting, “well it’s a new idea, mostly because I heard my absolute favorite performer was thinking of retiring to the city to teach.”

Charles frowns, “yes, I am thinking about settling in Boston since my godson is here and Jean is strong enough to anchor a performance, but how did you hear about that Dr. Essex? I’ve barely spoken of it.”

Dr. Essex looks cagey for a moment. “Well why don’t we discuss that over dinner after the show, Charles? I know you don’t have plans with Ms. Frost _this time_ since I overheard one of your dancers hyperventilating over his date with her tonight.”

Charles’s reluctance to refuse out of hand is clear, but his rapid redressing, evasion of the hug, and continued use of the doctor's title show clearly the dancer wants to say no. Rather than watch the standoff, Erik decides to intervene. Sidling past Dr. Essex, Erik slings his arm around Charles’s back and rests his hand on his hip. It takes a concerted effort to speak rather than just focus on the feel of Charles’s body under the silkiness of the satin.

“I’m very sorry Dr. Essex, but Charles and I already have plans. I’m sure you understand that with us getting to see each other on such an irregular schedule, that we want to spend as much time together as possible.”

  
Erik is gratified when Charles’s turns into his embrace and rests his head against Erik’s shoulder. Charles flawlessly continues with the charade, demurely offering, “I’m flattered by the invitation of course, but as you can see, I have a prior engagement.” Charles’s voice drips sincerity, and with his big blue eyes, Erik is sure that the dancer looks entirely guileless.

By the way his eyes narrow, Dr. Essex is unconvinced, but doesn’t have the grounds to object.


	3. Chapter 3

Rather than embellish the story further, Charles instead pushes his body even more closely against Erik, clearly dismissing Essex with his body language if not his words. Erik responds by tightening his embrace, carefully keeping his skin from directly contacting the dancer’s. The thin robe wrapped around Charles does little to disguise the feel of muscles flexing under Erik’s arm, and he reminds himself that dropping his hand from Charles’s hip to a lower portion of his body is not an option at this point. His fingers still twitch at the thought of grabbing a handful of Charles’s delightfully firm-looking ass.

When the silence grows uncomfortable, Erik is still concentrating on keeping his embrace chaste, so he almost misses Essex’s curt, “another time then, Charles. I hope tonight’s performance is as excellent as your past ones.” Charles cocks his head as though listening while Erik focuses on the feel of Essex’s watch moving away from the dressing room. By the time it has moved all the way out of the building, he realizes that his arm is still wrapped around Charles.

Embarrassed, Erik releases his grip and steps back. To his surprise, Charles steps with him, placing a hand on his chest before speaking. “Thank you,” Charles eyes convey genuine gratitude. Fortunately, Charles’s palm flat against his chest keeps Erik grounded when he could easily get lost in just watching the emotions pass over Charles’s face.

“Dr. Essex contributes a great deal of money to a variety of mutant groups, especially in the performing arts. Fly Free would be fine without his patronage, but I don’t want to risk alienating him and having other groups suffer. Without your intervention I’d have either endured dinner with him or feigned a telepathy-induced migraine, which I’m sure he would have offered to treat,” said Charles.

Erik answers, “he was clearly making you feel uncomfortable. He’s either oblivious or just doesn’t care as long he gets what he wants.”

Sighing, Charles admits, “It’s a bit of both, really. He’s willfully blind and I honestly think he uses his telepathic gifts to delude himself.” He pauses, and then looks up at Erik, his lips pursed in thought.

Erik carefully does not spend that time thinking about closing the distance with his own lips.

Finally Charles says, “you're coming to the performance? We could see about making some plans afterwards if you’re still interested.”

Erik nearly swallows his tongue as Charles runs his hand down Erik’s chest in a caress as he makes the invitation.

Emma clears her throat, and Charles jumps, clearly having forgotten her presence.

“Charles, just because he’s good looking does not make him dating material,” says Emma. “For all you know, Erik’s not even interested in men. Or given what I know of his temperament, he may secretly be a serial killer.”

Slightly offended, Erik opens his mouth to object when Charles bursts out laughing. The dancer pulls Emma into an embrace, still chuckling.

“That was one time, Emma. One time! You know that they arrested Arkady before we even had our date.” Charles releases Emma and steps back, brushing against Erik and standing closer than is strictly polite. “Besides, I doubt you would have brought him here if he were…”

Charles trails off, and makes a complex series of facial expressions that Erik tentatively associates with a silent conversation. “Emma Grace Frost! You brought Erik Lehnsherr here without giving me any warning?”

Idly examining her flawless fingernails, Emma responds, “well, if you’d call more frequently he might have come up in conversation.”

Erik feels off-balance. He knows that it is more because the pair has a long history together more than it is about telepathy, but he is missing at least half of the conversation. He’s torn between pursing his morbid curiosity about the serial killer Arkady that Charles apparently nearly dated and his desire to assure Charles that the dancer made an excellent first impression even without advanced warning. At least the overwhelming lust has diminished to an ignorable heat as his confusion grew.

Still close by his side, Charles turns to look back at Erik. He’s disappointed to find that Charles’s expression has assumed the cast Erik associates with a public persona rather than a personal interaction. “Mr. Lehnsherr, thank you again for your intervention. I hope that this encounter won’t adversely color your view of mutants in the arts.”

Emma pinches the bridge of her nose, a more dramatic expression of exasperation than she normally allows herself.

 _He thinks I’m here for research_ , Erik suddenly realizes. The success of Erik’s books has made them the definitive works for a lot of mutant policy creation. Thus far, he’s not written about mutants in the art world, but he could see why Charles would make that assumption. _Actually_ , Erik thinks, _I should consider that idea_. Might be a nice change of pace from more depressing issues. Emma would certainly approve of the new angle. Still, Erik quickly corrects Charles’s assumption, eager to return to a more intimate interaction than Charles would allow if he thought he was representing mutants in a professional sense.

“I’m here as Emma’s friend, not as one of her writers,” he assures the dancer. Charles’s face is a mixture of relieved and disappointed. “While I may write about mutant powers in an aesthetic context in the future, I’m more interested in meeting someone who can tell me stories about Emma before she perfected her façade.” Erik allows his voice to deepen as he continues, “And even if you have no stories to tell about her, I’m very interested in learning about you too, so I’d love to take you to dinner after your performance.”

Erik finds that Charles’s brilliant smile when he voices his acceptance rekindles the lust. Hopefully the performance will allow him to wrestle his libido under control otherwise dinner would have a level of awkwardness Erik hadn’t experienced since he was a teenager.

* * *

 

The performance does not help Erik control his libido.


	4. Chapter 4

Between the conversation with Charles and the start of the ballet, Erik sequesters himself into a corner of the Opera House, quickly typing into his smart phone to try to arrange a reservation at a close, but appropriate restaurant.  Erik has no aversion to one-night stands or even longer-term casual arrangements, but his experience with actual dates is limited, so he takes his time going over Yelp reviews before he starts making calls.  

Emma’s expression as he left Charles’s dressing room made it clear that even if they wound up in bed together, Erik had better treat Charles more seriously than a hookup from the bar.  Charles has lasted as Emma’s friend for years, which speaks well of this potential date.  Given that Emma is nearly as misanthropic as Erik, he’s sure that Charles is more than a pretty face and ridiculously attractive body.    

The activity helps calm him down, and he considers googling Charles.  Ultimately he decides against it, wanting to learn more about Charles and his work in Fly Free from the man himself.  If nothing else, talking about mutants in the arts could keep his interest if the man himself couldn't over dinner.  By the time the ballet is scheduled to begin, Erik thinks that he has his attraction under control.

Frankly, Erik is not sure what to expect from this performance.  He knows that the cast is entirely mutant, and that they will be performing a “contemporary ballet,” but he has no context for that information.  At the very least, he’s hoping to see some interesting displays of mutant powers. It’s refreshing to think of mutants using their abilities for something other than military or industrial applications.

He’s a bit taken aback by the waiver he has to sign in order to gain entry though.  On reading through the form, he notes that the troupe is taking no chances: the waiver includes an explicit acknowledgement that mutants with psionic powers would be using their abilities on the audience.  Furthermore, there is a notification that other mutant powers, some of them with destructive capability, will be used during the performance.  He makes a mental note to ask Charles for a copy for future reference after he signs the form and passes it back to the blue-furred mutant overseeing the process.

Truthfully, Erik is prepared to be bored unless Charles is on the stage, so he doesn’t share the rest of the audience’s anticipation when the lights dim. 

A lovely red-headed ballerina is center stage when the performance begins.  Dressed in a form fitting green leotard with a gauzy skirt, the woman easily captures the audience’s attention. It’s as though she casts her own light. The emotional emanation is so subtle, Erik doesn’t even notice at first that she’s projecting a sense of joy as she dances. 

She’s surrounded by other dancers whose presences barely register at first.  The rest are dressed simply in white, and between the lighting and lead ballerina's mutant power, even those with visible mutations don’t attract attention away from the center dancer for long. 

The music changes and the dancers begin to separate.  Through either a trick of the lighting, mental illusion, or other application of mutant power, the white outfits begin to take on color.  The mutants on stage left, led by a man with incredible white wings sprouting from his back, begin to take on a blue cast. 

Through some subtly beyond Erik’s understanding, the once simple outfits begin to include crisp blue tutus that match Erik’s mental image of ballerinas: those not sporting the skirts are dressed in full-body outfits of the same sky blue.  Erik notes that individual costumes have been altered to accommodate some dancers.  One dancer goes without pointe shoes while another’s outfit is entirely backless to allow her wings to spread.   Eventually each dancer is garbed in sky blue, dancing with the music, yet each one seemingly isolated even within the group.

In contrast the mutants on the other side, led by a red-skinned male, begin to take on a red hue.  The outfits are less structured than the opposing side, with the females and males alike draped in flowing red over their skintight garments (though Erik notes that here too individual outfits have been altered to match the needs of the dancers).  The dancing on that side is different as well. Rather than the airy, almost detached interactions of the blue side, the dancers in red are clearly moving together, synchronized and physically touching in a manner that is subtly sensual rather than ethereal.

Throughout the dance, the woman in green floats across the stage, sometimes dancing with the winged man, only to flit away to join the devilish mutant on the other side; each side becomes more joyful as she approaches and bask in her radiance.  In general the use of powers is subtle, and the dancing itself appears to be entirely in line with baseline human capabilities. The story being told benefits from mutant powers more than the athletics from what Erik can tell.

The angel and demon motif is rather obvious, but the sensations projected by the dancers are nuanced.  The green ballerina clearly feels drawn to both sides, the cerebral and the physical at war with each other, but not necessarily within her. She doesn’t want to be forced to choose.  The tempo of the music increases, and her efforts to appease both men become more frantic even as the rest of the dancers begin to compete for space on the stage.

In the background, air meets earth, with mutant powers echoing the conflict on stage.  The first stylized battle starts just in front of the elemental fight.  A golden-furred mutant garbed in blue leaps into the air and is caught by a red veil flung by a mutant whose spikes protrude from his outfit.  Others follow suit, with veils alternately revealing and concealing tightly choreographed interactions between the opponents. 

The two leading men begin to fight, swords of fire and ice appearing as they clash mid-air.  The projected fear, anger, and helplessness from the woman caught in the middle adds an edge to the fight as they become entirely engrossed in an attempt to overpower each other.  There are no words, but the addition of the psionic elements tells the story of an inevitable clash, a conflict that could not be stopped no matter which side the ballerina appealed to.

As the music crests, the winged man takes flight, swooping through the air before diving towards the red-skinned man.  Just as the sword appears that it will inevitably strike, the mutant’s ability manifests: he teleports away, the sword parting only mist.  The battle continues, with both mutants displaying admirable control over their respective skills, including the red mutant’s remarkably flexible tail used to deflect blows from his opponent’s powerful wings.  Meanwhile, the woman in green retreats, finally fleeing while the men continue to battle.  In the background, individual dancers begin to fall, their bodies crumple to the ground like marionettes without strings.

The scene ends with both mutants realizing the woman has fled, ending their fight in an attempt to pursue her.

As the music dies, each side carries off their fallen, clearing the stage without ending the conflict.

The next scene opens with the woman in green teaching a young boy to dance.  The boy is pale, with loose brown hair, and dressed in a lighter shade of green.  His dancing is coltishly awkward, and he looks at the ballerina with adoration and devotion.  There is a distinctly familial tint to the emotions projected, and the sensation of years passing together.  The boy’s dancing improves until he’s easily following the woman’s lead.

It’s peaceful, pastoral even; the boy apparently untouched by the woman’s past and ignorant of the conflict that shaped her.  It is as they dance together that the two leaders appear from either side.  At first they don’t see the ballerina, focusing entirely on each other.  Their clash continues as it had before, but the dancers are sloppier, tired, and their movements erratic.

Thus, when the woman darts between the men, desperate to keep the peace in her new haven, neither man is alert enough to pull their blows.  Instead of a clash of swords, the woman is impaled with fire and ice.  For a moment, the entire scene freezes, a tableau of horror as each man realizes what they have done.  The last echoes of the music ring hollowly as the swords are withdrawn; the theatre is so silent that the blood dripping to the stage is audible.  Again, Erik is uncertain if he’s seen an illusion, impressive special effects, or even a mutant with regenerative powers actually being stabbed.

His curiosity is a minor thought in view of the action taking place on stage. Staggering, the ballerina falls to the ground, her hair uncoiling from its top knot to spill out across the floor mirroring the spread of her lifeblood. Her young protégé leaps towards her desperately, his elegant dancing from before taking on a chaotic edge. She reaches a hand out to him as he crumples to his knees and gathers her body in his arms.  The radiance that infused the redhead’s body seems to fade, and the boy cradling her fallen body takes on the lightness that had suffused the fallen woman.   

Erik and the rest of the audience are nearly floored by the outpouring of grief from the young man.  His despair and fear curl around each other as he shakes the woman’s shoulders, desperately pleading for her return.

As the boy sags in on himself, the two men responsible carefully approach.  In synchrony, they each lay a hand on a bare shoulder.  In a flash, the boy leaps to his feet, music thundering as he pushes each of them away with a mere thought.  Rage gathers in his mind, and the radiant glow focuses around his hands as he drives the leaders away, one taking flight and the other disappearing in a puff of smoke. 

Still radiating grief, the boy bends down and scoops his mentor’s body into his arms; her hair seems to twine around his arms in a macabre parody of life. The blood dripping from her torso stains the light green of his outfit as he carries her away.

Erik realizes that there are tears gathering in his eyes.  A quick look around shows the audience united in shared grief as the scene ends.  He is startled to realize that Xavier has not yet been on stage, and eager to see where the story goes next, far more invested in the ballet than he expected. 


	5. Chapter 5

During intermission, Erik stays in his seat. With the lights raised, he’s able to see his notebook well enough to furiously scribble notes. His last book had been about the use of mutant powers in wartime, and the effect on mutants who had to deal with PTSD that could influence the expression of their power. In fact, his writing had always focused on the practical use of mutant abilities and how legal and societal expectations dictated what was considered acceptable.

In watching the mutants of Fly Free perform, Erik has the urge to write in a completely different direction. He had been searching for a new topic for awhile, and had rough drafts of a variety of essays, but nothing had captured his interest like this. Idly, he tried to think about the last time he had used his powers for something artistic. He vaguely remembers shaping a terribly crude flower for his mother as a child, but he doesn’t think he’s ever really explored his power in that direction.

He wonders how the various mutants used their powers offstage, whether artistic use affected their view of themselves and mutants more generally. By the time the twenty minute intermission is over, Erik has pages filled with questions he wants to ask, and is trying to pull himself back into the proper mindset to enjoy the performance.

Fortunately for Erik’s ability to focus on the ballet, Charles is soon on the stage.

The scene began with the same young boy as before. Dramatically lit, with the rest of the stage in a darkness Erik is not sure is natural, the boy holds a pose as he seemingly ages before their eyes, filling out and growing taller until Charles Xavier stood alone in the light. He is shirtless, dressed only in green tights a shade darker than the earlier ballerina’s. His body gleams, and for an endless moment, he stood perfectly still, like a statue carved from marble into the perfect male form.

Erik wonders for a moment if Charles is another shapeshifter, but before he can pursue the thought, Charles begins to dance. The earlier empathic projection had been subtle, though still noticeable. Erik wonders whether the current empath is just that much stronger, or if the previous act was a way to ease the audience into a psionic experience, because this is not subtle.

It feels as though a warm breeze has slid through Erik’s mind and invited him out to play. It’s euphoric, intoxicating. Intellectually, Erik knows that he’s not dancing, and that even though he’s in reasonably good shape, there is no way he could dance the way Charles is on stage. But the feeling that swept up the audience makes that knowledge moot. Erik can feel his legs flexing. He can feel the the reverberations under his feet as he lands. But most importantly, Erik can feel the joy running through Charles as he dances.

It feels like freedom. As Charles leaps across the stage, the audience experiences the triumph over gravity and the satisfaction of a perfect landing.

Erik would be happy to watch this for hours, but he can feel the gratifying strain of muscles in need of a break within the projected experience. Finally Charles flows into the dance Erik recognizes from before, the one that the ballerina in green had taught the young Charles. 

Unlike the pure joy and pleasure of the previous dancing, this is tinged with a grief long-accepted but never forgotten. It is only when Erik’s mouth fills with the taste of the bitter herbs used in Passover Seders that he realizes how encompassing the experience is. Earlier he had felt the strain in Charles’s muscles, but this was a taste from his own memories, with all the emotional attachment Erik had to that experience, not merely a projection. The taste is fleeting, overwhelmed by the more positive emotional energy from the dance, but adds an incredible depth to the emotional outpouring.

Glancing next to him, Erik sees Emma silently weeping, but smiling all the same, and he realizes that she must feel the entire audience. He wonders how long she can cope with such overload when she begins to shift into her diamond form, apparently at her limit.

Refocusing back onto the stage, Erik realizes that he missed the entrance of what appears to be a gaggle of mutant children. Many of them have visible mutations, and they are performing a simplified version of Charles’s dance as he teaches them. There is a sense of satisfaction and pride now emanating from the stage as the man carries on his mentor’s teaching. The radiant glow from before returns, and is reflected in each child as well, increasing in strength each time Charles helps a child.

The lights fade on the center stage as the children flock around their teacher. As they dim, spotlights illuminate the sides of the stage. The antagonists from before are there, watching the scene that now looks distant. The red mutant’s tail lashes back and forth in irritation and the winged mutant seems poised to leap towards Charles. Simultaneously, both dancers break from their contemplation and gesture elegantly off-stage. Two ballerinas join them from behind the curtains. 

Erik recognizes the one with the winged man as the Latina with dragonfly wings he saw preparing earlier. The blue shapeshifter joins the red mutant. Both sides dance, the winged side with precision and a sense of detachment and rejection of the bonds of the earth, and the red side with a sultry undertone and physicality.

Charles and the children must have moved offstage, because the dances expand to cover the entire expanse, yet never intersect or interact. The dancers exist only as duos, ships passing in the night.

Neither side feels quite right, though Erik is hard pressed to determine what is off about the dances, just that there is some element missing. The longer the dances continue, the clearer it is that the leaders cannot teach their students how to access that brilliant joy Charles shared with the children. The lights begin to fade and the couples retreat to their original positions, the dancing now constrained by the darkness.

Apparently the flaws within the choreography is intentional, because soon the leaders send their pupils off to observe Charles. The lights on center-stage rise, and Charles is alone, gleaming in the spotlight. The two adult ballerinas creep inward out of the darkness.

Erik frowns, noticing that neither woman’s mutation is visible. The glorious dragonfly wings have apparently retreated, and the ballerina’s backless outfit seems only to display intricate tattoos. Meanwhile, the blue dancer has taken on the blonde guise from before. They approach Charles simultaneously, entreating his attention.

At first Charles ignores both, his face taking on the serene cast Erik recognizes from the dressing room. It does not seem to be an intentional dismissal, but clearly frustrates the red-garbed dancer. For a moment the shapeshifter looks like Charles’s lost mentor, and a pang of grief lances out from the preoccupied dancer. The shift is momentary, between one spin and the next, and just enough for the audience to notice while Charles shakes off the apparent apparition.

After the glimpse of his teacher catches his attention, Charles welcomes the two women. It is less a dance with three people and more two simultaneous dances between two couples, Charles somehow managing to work with both ballerinas even as the two try to ignore each other. The music starts the same as it did when Charles was teaching the children, but there is a discordant note throughout. Charles is clearly puzzled by this; the subtle glow that permeated Charles does not seems to extend to either woman.

Though not as obvious as when they were with their mentors, the ballerinas are not finding the expected satisfaction in their dancing. The leaps are just a touch off, the spins a bit off balance. There is no visible flaw in the dancing, just an internal recognition. Finally, the blue-garbed dancer’s wings fly free mid-leap, and she lands with the same sense of freedom and triumph Charles projected earlier. 

Then there is a sudden shock of horror as the woman realizes that her wings are free. There is a crippling anticipation of rejection as she cowers away from Charles’s approach. Instead of the dismissal she’s clearly expecting, Charles raises her to her feet and makes a beckoning motion to the side. Three of the children from before, all with visible mutations, tumble out. 

A little white girl with pixie wings flutters around the adult ballerina, delighting in her similar winged appearance. A small boy with glowing red eyes and veins approaches the shapeshifter in turn, hesitantly pulling on his own dreadlocks as he nears the seemingly normal ballerina. Then she spins, taking on her blue form, and opening her hand to the child. The final child, with pale green skin and a shock of blue hair leaps into Charles’s arms, apparently ignoring the two ballerinas. 

Charles gracefully spins the child away into her own dance as he turns and raises the adult winged ballerina in a lift that is far higher than any he used before, letting her wings guide her upwards. As she glides through the air, he pulls the blue-skinned mutant into his arms. For the first time, all three seem to be dancing together, the women interacting. Slowly the dancing shifts, with the winged mutant adding small touches of sensuality to her spins and the other one taking to the air in graceful leaps rather than staying earthbound. There is a unity in their dance that neither woman had shown before, and their joy is echoed by the childish delight of the small mutants dancing behind them.

There is no discordant note. But as they dance, the leaders from before approach. The children are apparently frightened off by the aggression shown and there is the distinct empathetic sense that the men are there to take their students home: Erik half-expects the ballerinas to cower into Charles. In a pleasant surprise, the two dancers confidently meet their prior teachers. Rather than look to another for protection, each ballerina pulls her mentor into a dance. But the leaders are stuck in old habits. When the ballerinas dance with unity between mind and body, the men struggle to follow, still caught up in a conflict that they had never resolved.

Finally, both leaders run away. And it is a clear retreat, a refusal to change that isolates them, even when they are invited to join to in with the unified group.

The final dance is breathtaking. The choreography makes dramatic use of the ballerinas’s mutant abilities, but it is the emotional content that is overwhelming. There is the physical glory of the movements, the peace of acceptance, and the sorrow that not everyone can change. But over it all is a profound joy in the freedom of the dance.

When the last note is silent and the dancers still in a dramatic pose, Erik joins the entire audience as they rise to their feet in applause.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Missed posting yesterday- a work obligation hit me unexpectedly.


	6. Chapter 6

As the cast takes their bows, Erik realizes that he doesn’t know where to meet up with Charles.  The dancer had agreed to dinner after the show, but unlike Emma, Erik doesn’t feel comfortable simply sauntering backstage, especially not through a crowd of fans looking to meet the dancers or get autographs. 

He turns to Emma, and before he even asks she answers, “No Erik, I won’t give you his number.  You’ll have to ask him for it.” There is a smirk across her lips before she adds, “besides, Charles wouldn’t pick up from a number he doesn’t recognize.”

Erik frowns as he’s jostled by a person exiting the row. “So you call him,” suggests Erik.

“If you’d let me finish, Lehnsherr, you’d know that Charles asked one of the tech people to come get us. You’re not the only one with plans tonight, remember? She’s uniquely skilled in navigating through a crowd. Just sit tight while the theatre empties.”  Taking her own advice, Emma sits back in her seat and whips out a compact and uses the mirror to carefully apply a new coat of lipstick.  Erik wonders if the poor mutant taking her out is going to survive the experience.

Erik pulls out his notebook and spends some time refining his questions as the theatre empties.  He’s trying to decide if it would be useful to travel and see the troupe perform in other, less liberal cities than Boston when a young woman intentionally clears her throat to get their attention.   “Ms. Frost and Mr. Lehnsherr?  I’m Kitty Pryde- Hank said I should bring you back stage?”  Though she ends the statement with a question, the girl looks quietly confident.  Dressed all in black with her hair pulled back, she looks fit and delicate enough to be one of the ballerinas, though Erik is fairly sure he didn’t see her on stage.

“Thank you Miss Pryde,” Emma says imperiously, “that would be excellent.” 

As the petite girl leads them down the theatre towards the stage, Erik wonders why exactly she was chosen to escort them.  A variety of different mutations would lend themselves to moving through a crowd.  Super strength was a common enough mutation, though Erik found it a bit disconcerting when it was paired with someone who looks delicate, a cognitive dissonance that always caught him off-guard.  Or maybe she was another telepath and able to simply steer people out of her way.

Nether speculation is true, Erik finds when they approach a blank wall.  The young woman turns to them and says, “Please walk with me and don’t let go,” as she seizes their hands. 

Dragging them along behind her, the young woman simply walks through the wall, leading them through a hazy non-space that Erik tentatively identifies as the interior walls. When she pulls them into the bustling backstage, no one is surprised by their sudden appearance.  Instead, the blue furred mutant who was overseeing the release forms swings down from a catwalk and lands gracefully in front of them.  Erik is a bit bemused when the large man bows and offers Emma his arm. 

He’s a bit annoyed when Emma takes it and walks off with the blue mutant, leaving Erik alone with their guide.  Still, he doesn’t want to make Charles wait, so he turns to the girl who is smiling after the seemingly mismatched pair and says, “I’m supposed to meet with Charles Xavier.”

“Oh!” the girl exclaims, blushing slightly, “I didn’t realize you were here to see Charles.  Hank didn’t say- he was a bit nervous when he asked me to come get you guys though.”  She gestures Erik towards one of the hallways in the labyrinthine backstage, twisting through the costume racks that block part of the way and ducking under various props stored haphazardly. 

Finally they emerge in front of a door Erik recognizes.  Just like Emma, Kitty pushes the door open without knocking.  And just like before, Erik is grateful for the rudeness.

Instead of Charles Xavier stretching mostly naked, Erik is treated to the sight of Charles Xavier dripping wet and bent over toweling his hair dry with another towel slung around his waist barely concealing his ass.  After seeing the way Charles moved that very flexible and strong body across the stage, Erik doesn’t think he can be blamed for staring.  Kitty doesn’t even blink, just gently pushes Erik into the room and shuts the door behind her.

Erik is entranced by the ripple of Charles’s back muscles as he straightens.  And then Charles is turning, smiling, and seemingly completely content with only the small towel preserving his modesty. 

“Erik, sorry, I didn’t expect you to get here so soon, I’ll just be a moment,” Charles says brightly.  He walks towards Erik and is suddenly far too close, stretching past him to pull a shirt off the door hook.  There are only inches between Erik and Charles, and one piece of cloth Erik is silently willing to succumb to gravity.

Erik physically grips the doorframe to keep from reaching out and tries to marshal his thoughts. He’s a writer, he must be able to articulate something here, but all he can offer is a slightly breathless accusation, “you must be doing this on purpose.  After the show, I know that you’re even more powerful than Emma, and there is no way you don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

“Oh?” asks Charles archly, edging just a bit closer, but still not touching.  “While I’m quite strong, I’m actually a bit exhausted.  The Opera House seats over 2500 people and we had a full house tonight.” There is a meaningful pause, “what exactly am I doing to you, Erik?”

It’s too much, Erik’s hands move without conscious thought and grip Charles’s hips, pulling him forward until they’re chest to chest.  Charles moves into Erik until the writer is pressed between the door and the dancer. Arousal pools in Erik’s groin as the dancer shifts his hips teasingly against him.   Erik is viscerally satisfied that he’s taller than the dancer, and Charles has to crane his neck to keep looking him in the eyes.  Leaning down, Erik closes the last gap between them. His lips barely brush against Charles’s when the door is slammed open. 

Erik and Charles go tumbling together, the dancer managing to spin out of the fall and stagger to the side while Erik barely manages to get a hand underneath him.  If not for his own powers helping slow his fall, Erik is fairly sure he’d have broken his nose against the floor.

“Oops!” laughs the woman who has just floored them.  The blue shapeshifter apparently enjoys elevated strength as well, because she’s not the least bit surprised to see that she’s sent two grown men to the ground.  Erik is grateful at least that she didn’t send them literally flying.  “I’m sorry, Charles.  Hank asked me to remind you that needed to drink this and tell you to make sure to eat plenty of protein tonight.” Here she raises an eyebrow at Erik, before offering a large lidded thermos to Charles.

Charles reaches out and takes it, his other hand holding the towel draped against his crotch, his hips bare.  “Thank you, Raven,” he says tightly.  “So glad you’re here to look out for me.  Now, if you will excuse us…”

“I’m not leaving until I see you drink that Charles,” she insists.  “Last time you didn’t get enough sugar right after a show you had a migraine that you passed along to all of us.”

Charles makes an abortive attempt to lift his hand, as though he wants to run it through his hair, before apparently remembering he’s holding a towel.  Erik is slightly disappointed before he decides that the first time he sees Charles’s cock he’d rather not be laying on the ground while a stranger leers at Charles from an open doorway.

Presumably catching the tail end of that thought, Charles jerks his chin at Raven, who catches the hint and offers Erik a hand up.  “Can you give me a minute, Erik?  Raven is right, I do need to drink this.  I’ll be out and dressed in a few minutes.  Raven, you can take the empty cup when I’m done as proof that I’ve followed Hank’s instructions.”

With that, Raven ushers Erik from the dressing room and firmly closes the door behind them.

 _What the fuck just happened_? wonders Erik as the shapeshifter leans against the far side of the hallway eyeing him up critically.


	7. Chapter 7

_What the fuck just happened_? wonders Erik as the shapeshifter leans against the far side of the hallway eyeing him up critically.

“I’m Raven,” she finally offers, “Mystique is my stage name, and I answer to either.”

She runs a hand through her hair and Erik notices she’s not wearing any clothing.  She’s so comfortable in just her skin that it didn’t even register at first.  He speculates what the baseline humans would do if more mutants with physical manifestations went around proudly showing off rather than trying to conceal their mutations.  Well, to be fair, they’d probably object to Raven out of simple prudishness, and Erik frankly doubts she goes among outsiders like this, even if she keeps her blue skin and scales.  These thoughts help him quell both the arousal from earlier and the annoyance at the interruption.

“Look, I don’t mean to be a cockblock.  Charles can certainly look after himself, but trust me, if I hadn’t intervened in an hour or so he’d crash hard and suffer for it.  In the middle of sex it would probably be worse than just getting the echoes.”

“What exactly did you give him?”

“It’s a special smoothie that he needs to drink after exerting himself.  It has a stupid amount of sugar in it, plus a bunch of vitamins and stuff.  Charles needs sugar almost constantly, and a performance means he needs more than normal.  Usually he’s pretty good about remembering,” here she trails off and looks at him thoughtfully.  “Though I really can’t blame him for his forgetfulness.”

Erik is sure that he doesn’t blush; he’s glad that he’s not the only one attracted to the point of distraction.  Charles’s behavior certainly suggested as much, but confirmation is nice.  Frankly, Erik is aware that his own behavior is out of character, the level of lust beyond his normal range of reactions.   Charles is stupidly attractive, has a body that no one can deny is spectacular, and has exquisite control over his mutation… okay, so at least there are reasons for Erik’s fascination.  He hopes that Charles can live up to this once he actually has clothes on, because Erik really wants to take those clothes back off, and Charles being an idiot will make that less likely.  Erik really doesn’t have the patience for idiots, nor the tact to humor them.

Apparently undeterred by Erik’s silence, Raven eventually continues.  “If this is more than a one-time thing, I recommend keeping fruit juice around.  After physical exertion that usually helps keep him steady.  And if he’s ever bitchy, it usually means he needs sugar.”

“After physical exertion?” asks Erik, raising an eyebrow. 

Raven rolls her eyes.  “We’re dancers.  We train and practice.”  She smirks, “what did you think I meant?”

Erik can’t help himself, he snorts out a laugh.  “Right, dancing, that’s definitely the type of physical exertion you were referring to.”

Before their banter can continue, the door swings open and Charles steps out.  And fuck, Erik has seen Charles practically naked; there is no reason why seeing him in black slacks, a white shirt and a black waistcoat should be so hot.  The shirt is unbuttoned to expose his neck and a lovely bit of his chest, while the waistcoat accents his trim waist and broad shoulders.  Erik immediately wants to strip it off the dancer and push him back into the dressing room.

Charles hands the presumably empty thermos to Raven, “thanks for the reminder Raven, though I can only wish your timing had been better.”

“After all the times you’ve interrupted me and Azazel, my sympathy is limited Charles,” she rejoins.  “Have a good time, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” she shouts as she darts away.

“Well, with that ringing endorsement, shall we be off?” says Charles.

Charles leads them out of the maze of the backstage, carefully avoiding the small groups of fans who would probably love to see him dressed up and in touching distance.  Once outside, Erik directs them towards the seafood restaurant he picked out.

Dinner is nice. It is also an exercise in patience that Erik did not think he was capable of.  The food is delicious and Charles is full of entertaining stories, as well as insightful questions about Erik’s own work.  Frankly, it’s the best companionship Erik has had in quite some time.

Then there are points where Erik has to forcefully remind himself that pulling Charles out of his chair and pinning him against a wall would be inappropriate in the middle of Legal Seafoods and that he really doesn’t want to be kicked out.

But Charles makes it very difficult when he’s excitedly explaining how the troupe got started and how the various members had come to embrace their abilities.  Hearing Charles explain that one winged dancer had to be talked out of radical surgery, and that ballet was his route to loving his mutation is fascinating.  Even the simpler anecdotes are charming in his accented voice.  “Well the name was a joke at first.  You know, you’d see a poster with a giant ‘Fly Free’ on it so people would get close enough to read it before they realized it was a ballet troupe.  And by the time we were well known, the name stuck.  People mostly assume it’s about the feeling of freedom while dancing, and we try not to disillusion them.”

Charles likes people.  It’s clear in how he speaks of his fellow dancers, his instructors, his audiences.  Erik wonders if he’d feel the same if he could see people thoughts and feelings: he’s fairly certain he’d be even more misanthropic if he were in Charles’s shoes.  It makes Erik fiercely glad that he’s here with Charles now, that the man didn’t have to put up with spending time with the unctuous Dr. Essex. It also makes Erik want to hide Charles away from the ugliness in the world, possibly in his bedroom.

The impulse is stupid, and he knows it, because there is no way Charles hasn’t seen the darkness that stains humanity.  Charles just manages to see the flip side as well. 

Frankly, the admiration Erik is feeling has created a bit of a conflict for him.  After their very brief moment in the dressing room, Erik had every intention of inviting Charles back to his place, or following Charles to his hotel room if the dancer preferred.  The interrupted kiss in the dressing room was leading in that direction, and given how Charles has taken every opportunity to touch Erik as they walked and talked, Erik doesn’t think he has changed his mind.

But Erik also wants to see Charles again.  He’s only in town for three weeks before Fly Free moves to Chicago; however, Dr. Essex was correct in his statement that Charles was looking to settle in Boston, and the tour will only go another two months after they leave Boston.  That meant that this might actually go somewhere.  Erik doesn’t want to ruin that with premature sex.

That thought lingers in the back of his mind as they settle the check and walk out of the restaurant. 

Before he can tie himself in knots about the situation, Charles interrupts his brooding, “Look, I’m having a great time, and I don’t really want to end things here.  I’d like to see you again while I’m still in town.”

Before Erik can respond, Charles continues, “but I also don’t want to deny myself this.” With that, Charles laces his fingers behind Erik’s neck and pulls him into a kiss. Just as they had before, Erik’s hands naturally fall to Charles’s waist and pull him closer. It starts relatively chaste, the brushing of lips without anything more.  Then Charles’s hands move upwards and when they lightly tug at Erik’s hair, he cannot help but moan at the sensation. 

The kiss that follows is probably inappropriate for a public walkway.  Erik is distantly glad that it’s late enough that they’re not going to be shouted at for making out in front of children, because he doesn’t want to stop.  If they were anywhere near Erik’s townhouse, Erik knows that he’d be moving them in that direction without a second thought.

Charles breaks the kiss with a satisfied sigh, and his fingers slide out of Erik’s hair and trace across his shoulders then down his arms.  “My hotel isn’t far, walk me back? We can decide if we want to take this any further in private.” He pauses and looks at Erik thoughtfully before adding wickedly, “and there are so many things we can explore in the meantime if you want to wait for the third date before sex.”

Erik doesn’t need to be a telepath to read between the lines.  Charles wants to see where this can go, and falling into bed together sooner rather than later won’t stop him from accepting another date.  So, with that settled, Erik agrees that there is no reason to deny themselves at least a little exploration into their mutual attraction.


	8. Chapter 8

Charles leads him back through Boston with an ease that suggests either a familiarity with the city or use of his telepathy to guide him through areas with few street signs. Erik’s not complaining though; the sooner they get back to the hotel room, the sooner he can stop trying to restrain himself. He’s old enough that walking around with an erection would be absurdly awkward so a surprising amount of his focus is on controlling his physical reaction to Charles’s proximity. He thought he had outgrown this along with puberty more than a decade ago, but anticipation plays havoc with his responses.

Most of the walk is a blur, with only Charles’s teasing touches to Erik’s arms and chest as moments in focus. In addition to the physical caresses, Erik can feel the edges of Charles’s power; not influencing, but sharing eagerness and enjoyment from the other man. By the time they make it to the lobby of the hotel, Erik’s just about ready to give up on restraint.

To his surprise, in the elevator Charles takes a large, deliberate step back both physically and mentally, and Erik almost reels at the loss. Looking up with a frown, he sees Charles has placed on hand against his temple, his eyes are closed and he looks as though he’s concentrating. Emma makes a similar face when using her telepathy, so Erik presumes that Charles is either talking to a member of his troupe or otherwise engaged in decidedly non-erogenous thoughts.

Rather than interrupt, Erik takes a moment to breathe and let his thoughts catch up with his body. Trying to be analytical, he evaluates his position.

On the positive side, Charles is just as, if not more, attractive clothed and speaking as he is half-naked or dancing. He’ll be staying in Boston long enough to see if there is a chance for more than sex, which is unexpectedly appealing. Charles’s affiliation with Fly Free may give Erik new ideas and access to mutant artists for his next book. Charles is a mutant, a powerful one, and has enough exposure to other mutants that the full extent of Erik’s abilities will presumably not scare him away.

On the negative side, Charles is distractingly attractive, and may wreak havoc on Erik’s ability to write about mutant artistic expression. Further, Charles may have any number of annoying habits that Erik hasn’t experienced yet. Finally, Charles is friends with Erik’s editor, and Emma is vindictive, so if this goes wrong, the fallout could be terrible.

None of the negatives, rooted as they are in hypotheticals, do anything to deter Erik. They do keep him occupied while Charles is mentally checked out. When the elevator reaches the eighth floor, the noise of the doors opening seems to pull Charles back into the present with Erik.

“I’m sorry, Erik. One of my dancers was in a fight with her boyfriend, and she wanted to let me know that Azazel was teleporting her out of my immediate range. She has some issues with her control when emotions get high, and the last thing anyone wants is a high powered telekinetic trashing downtown Boston.”

Erik frowns but has to ask, “Do you need to go? I know you have responsibilities to your group.”

Thankfully, Charles immediately grabs Erik’s hand and starts leading him towards his room.

“No, she let me know because I worry about them and they’re used to checking in. I’ve asked them to leave me out for the evening, so we shouldn’t have any interruptions.”

Charles smiles, and Erik is glad that he has Charles to himself. He’s not sure his body would forgive him another delay like the one in the dressing room.

By this time, they’ve reached Charles’s suite, and Erik tries not to project his eagerness as Charles pulls out his wallet and flips through it looking for the keycard. Erik is a bit amused to see the telepath has a wide selection of hotel cards, presumably left over from past tours and never cleared out. Finally, his impatience gets the better of him and Erik leans over Charles and opens the door with his powers. After grinding back into Erik teasingly for a moment, Charles opens the door and steps inside, Erik right on his heels.

Erik only has time for a rather cursory look around the suite before Charles grips him by the hips and rises up onto his toes to nip at Erik’s lower lip. Erik’s left hand drops to Charles’s waist as he slowly starts moving them further into the room with a possessive grip. Erik slides his right hand behind Charles’s head and lightly grasps the nape of his neck, tilting the telepath’s face slightly so he can deepen the kiss.

As his thumb grazes behind Charles’s ear, the dancer’s breath hitches. Encouraged, Erik breaks the kiss and replaces his thumb with his mouth, sucking lightly where Charles’s neck meets his jawbone. The telepath’s breathing stutters again, and then Charles whimpers in want. Erik finds that scraping his teeth along the dancer’s skin results in Charles’s back arching wantonly, annihilating any remaining space between them. Erik returns to the kiss, letting his thumb press gently against the slight bruising his mouth left.

Charles moves with natural grace, walking backwards while running his hands up from Erik’s hips, sliding under his shirt. For all that Erik was hesitant to touch Charles’s bare skin lest he project his want too strongly, he’s gratified when Charles doesn’t show the same hesitation. Desire heats Erik’s blood and settles into the cradle of his hips as he continues to move forward. He breaks the kiss for a moment to take stock of the room, because with the way Charles is now nuzzling against his neck, Erik is not sure he can stay standing too much longer.

“Charles,” he murmurs against the shorter man’s temple, “what do you want?” As he asks, a dozen different scenarios filter through Erik’s mind ranging from ending the night there to bending Charles over the couch in front of him. Long acquaintance with Emma Frost means that Erik is not new to projecting for a telepath, but he’s never tried to organize his thoughts with this sort of distraction. Erik hadn’t given too much thought to how a telepath’s abilities might play out in a sexual situation, and frankly he’s glad he hadn’t. Because if he had, then watching the ballet would have been impossible.

In spite of the chaos Erik is sure fills his thoughts, Charles manages to pick out one of the images and reflect it back to Erik. The view of Charles, shirtless and straddling him is enough to pull a hungry moan from his chest. Erik immediately begins steering them towards the armchair in the image.

The husky sound of Charles’s chuckle is enough to snap Erik’s final restraints. His hands fly down to Charles’s vest, stripping him out of it just as he had wanted to back in the dressing room. Erik is working on Charles’s shirt buttons before the waistcoat even hits the floor, swiftly exposing the dancer’s sculpted chest and working down towards his groin. The final tug on the white fabric sends a button ricocheting across the room and pulls the tail of the shirt free from Charles’s slacks.

Charles has not been passive, and when Erik has the presence of mind to notice anything but the feel of Charles’s skin under his hands, he finds that he has lost his jacket and shirt somewhere along the way. As he spins and falls into the armchair, Erik can see a line of clothes from the door. Charles kicked his shoes and socks free at some point, leaving him clad only in slacks and belt at he settles himself down into Erik’s lap.

There is no missing the ridge of Charles’s erection pressing against him anymore than Charles could ignore Erik’s own, hot and heavy through their clothes. Erik’s hips move without conscious thought, grinding in artless need as Charles’s spine arches, thrusting his own crotch forward and he tilts his head back, gasping in air desperately. Charles braces his hands against Erik’s shoulders, maintaining his balance while chasing the heady friction between them. Erik lifts his hips, pressing his cock against the hardness between Charles’s legs and grinning as the telepath rubs against him with a choked off groan.

Erik pulls Charles even closer and holds him there, flush against his body. It takes barely a breath of power to free their belts and lower their zippers. Charles shudders against him, moaning at either the feel of Erik’s power or simply at the release of pressure against his cock. Sliding his hands along Charles’s body, Erik makes quick work of tugging Charles’s boxers and pants down to mid-thigh. Erik snakes a hand between their bodies and pulls his own cock free from the confines of his clothing, not bothering to take the time to pull his trousers down.

As Charles’s hand curls around their cocks, a small tendril of lust curls around Erik’s mind and he can feel the hesitant question behind it. “Yes,” he gasps out loud, “yes, Charles.” With verbal permission granted, Charles extends his power through Erik’s mind, the shared pleasure looping and so intense it takes just moments before Erik is lost in his climax, feeling Charles fall with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First time I've done anything other than fade-to-black, still not sure how I feel about it.


	9. Chapter 9

Erik feels sated; he’s reluctant to open his eyes because he’s afraid the orgasm will have broken the spell of attraction, and that would be both awkward and disappointing.  But when he feels Charles slip off his lap, he opens his eyes in time to see the dancer shimmy out of the rest of his clothing and walk to the bathroom with absolutely nothing on.  Erik’s cock gives a valiant twitch, and Erik is sure that if he were still a teenager, he’d be leaping up and tackling the other man for another round.

Instead, he lazily enjoys watching Charles’s back and ass as he fetches a damp washcloth and hand towel to clean up.  In hindsight, the idea that Erik could have been satisfied with one hurried encounter seems absurd.  Even if his body is entirely spent, seeing Charles move around is making Erik almost desperate for the promise of more. When Charles turns, Erik enjoys the chance to actually see the man’s body. Their frantic stripping and grinding meant that Erik had certainly felt Charles’s erection, but it it only now that he can catalogue the details.  Charles is uncut, thick and long in the aftermath of their activities, and Erik idly wonders how it would feel in his mouth or ass, or rubbing against his stomach with each thrust.  Apparently that thought wasn’t very quiet, because Charles raises an eyebrow in amusement as he hands over the washcloth.

He should feel awkward, still sitting in the chair, his softening cock hanging out, come smeared on his abs.  In past encounters, this is where Erik would efficiently clean up, get dressed and, if the sex was good and he was feeling sentimental, kiss his partner goodbye before heading home. However, his own satisfaction and hopes for something more means that Erik takes the washcloth with a murmured thanks and puts it to use while still relaxed in the armchair rather than immediately taking his leave.

Erik has been unashamedly ogling Charles’s cock, but lets his eyes trail upwards.  Now that he’s close by, Erik notes with satisfaction that Charles looks absolutely ravished.  Small bruises are visible at each hip that Erik is sure are the same size as his thumbs, probably with a matching set of four on the dancer’s back.  Erik is faintly surprised: even in the heat of the moment he rarely loses control of himself enough that he’d hold on so tightly to another person.  He shakes off the concern; it is not as though the telepath complained then or now.  

Looking up at Charles’s face, there is bruising along his jawline, and his lips are kiss-swollen.  His eyes are heavy-lidded in satisfaction and probably exhaustion.  Abruptly, Erik remembers that Charles spent all evening mentally and physically performing before their date.  

Fortunately, Raven’s advice is actually helpful as Erik asks, “do you have any fruit juice?  You should probably drink some before you head to bed.”  Erik pauses to consider before adding, “and I should be heading home as well.  I’ll have the concierge call me a cab.”  

Erik wants to make plans with Charles immediately- he wants to make sure he’ll be able to ask Charles more questions about Fly Free, wants to be able to hear ridiculous anecdotes about the Royal Ballet School, and wants to make sure tonight won’t be his last opportunity to kiss Charles.

Before he can give voice to his desires, Charles leans down and slowly kisses him.  Unlike their previous kisses, this one isn’t leading anywhere, it’s just the sensual movement of Charles’s lips against his own, finishing with a sweet buss against the side of Erik’s mouth.

“I have juice in the minibar fridge, I’ll drink some before I go to bed, I promise.  I’d ask you to spend the night, but my shields weaken when I sleep, and my power tends to spread out to cover the room I’m in,” says Charles.

Erik hears the unspoken message that sleeping next to Charles is probably more intimate than anything else the pair could do in a bed together.

“When can I see you again?” Erik blurts when the silence has gone on slightly too long. He has to acknowledge to himself that his perceptions were probably skewed by his eagerness, because Charles seems slightly surprised by Erik’s vehemence.

“As I mentioned over dinner, I’m here in Boston for the next three weeks.  Other than our performances, my schedule is reasonably flexible.”

Erik decides to say to hell with subtly and asks, “any plans for tomorrow?”

The slow, full grin that spreads across Charles’s face at the question spares Erik any embarrassment he might feel at showing his eagerness.

“I can clear my afternoon as long as I get back to the Opera House by 5:00 pm at the latest.”

Erik finally stands and scoops up his phone from his jacket’s inside pocket, offering it to Charles with the explanation, “Emma wouldn’t give me your number.”

Smiling, Charles taps in a number and then hits ‘send.’  Classical music that Erik doesn’t recognize sounds from Charles’s phone, hidden somewhere under a heap of clothing.  

“I’ll call you tomorrow morning, or would you prefer that I text?”

"Either is fine," Charles says and continues, "and if I don't hear from you, I'll give you a call instead."

As Erik pulls on his shirt and makes his way to the door, he makes sure to save the information in his phone and also e-mail it to himself just in case.  Charles opens the door for him, leaning out from behind its concealment to press a kiss goodbye against Erik’s mouth.  In return, Erik takes a moment to appreciate the dancer’s still unclothed state before murmuring goodbye and heading to the lobby.

After he asks the concierge to arrange a taxi, it occurs to Erik that he has no idea what to do for their date tomorrow.  It’s actually a pretty fabulous concern to have, he decides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may do other things set in this universe, but for now it’s finished. If there are particular moments people would like to see, I'd take that into consideration. I actually have a ridiculous amount of head-canon for a universe that started as a quick drabble of Erik walking in on Ballet Dancer! Charles

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my tumblr, cleaned up for AO3


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